


abyss.

by outpastthemoat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x07: A Little Slice of Kevin, Angst, Ghosts, Hallucinations, M/M, Post-Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You sit in the dark and pick at your wounds.</p><p>I left you to die, you say, and he sighs, close at your ear.</p><p>You pray to him, still, though you have only one prayer left.</p><p>I killed you, you whisper.  Haunt me, then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	abyss.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Abgrund (Übersetzung)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/971379) by [lumidaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumidaub/pseuds/lumidaub)



 

> _“You said I killed you—haunt me, then!  The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe.  I know that ghosts have wandered on earth.  Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!  Oh, God! it is unutterable!  I cannot live without my life!  I cannot live without my soul!”_

You sit in the dark and pick at your wounds.

 _I left you to die_ , you say, and he sighs, close at your ear _._

You pray to him, still, though you have only one prayer left.

 _I killed you_ , you whisper.   _Haunt me, then._

He is there in a flash of blue that catches your eye, or a trenchcoat wrapped around someone else’s shoulders.  You brush against his arm in crowded streets, fingers almost touching; you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror _;_ you hear his name fall from someone else’s lips.  

He is there in a rustle of feathers, an electric charge in the tips of your fingers, a warm breath of air on the back of your neck; he is there, right behind you, he is always there. 

He walks alongside you, just out of sight; you see his smile out of the corner of your eye.

You glance over your shoulder, but he is never there.

He is there when the mattress dips beside you, when you feel the soft touch of a hand on your shoulder or an easy warmth against your back, and as you drift somewhere between sleep and waking, you feel his fingers curl around your face, his cheek against yours.

His ghost is always there, an echo of every emotion you ever felt towards him, a maddening rush of love and anger and fear and honest-to-god  _need_ ; his ghost is the guilt that sleeps below the surface, the whiskey you pour down your throat, and his absence leaves a hollow ache right where your heart used to rest.   

And if he haunts you, it is only because you beg him to. 

He wraps his arms around you, licking against your teeth, pressing back against your touch, and you can’t remember how it felt to love him, only how it feels to grieve him; your memories are tarnished with loss.

He whispers your name in your ear, he breathes against your neck.  He pushes against you, drawing closer than he ever was in life, closer to you than anything has ever come before; he’s under your skin, he’s in your blood, you taste him in the back of your throat when you swallow your tears.

He is there in your dreams, clawing at the windows, slipping under the door; he begs,  _let me in, let me_   _in,_  and when you wake you find yourself scratching through the salt lines, flinging opening the windows, rushing to the door; you call his name, you shout _,_ _where are you? oh, where are you?_

 _Stay with me,_ you beg.

He slips inside your bones.

 _Drive me crazy,_ _send me back to hell,_ you plead, because as long he haunts you _,_  he can’t really be gone.

And he whispers,  _I will_.


End file.
